


That You Learn Whether You Can Fly

by TehLotteh



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: "Maker why me", Anders is a big softie, Dragon Riders AU, Dragon slobber doesn't wash out, Dragons also don't know the meaning of doors, Grey Wardens, Hawke finally gets his wish of being a dragon, Hawke gets what Hawke wants, Hawke is more like a puppy than a dragon, Other, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:30:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLotteh/pseuds/TehLotteh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders was born a spirit healer - a mage with the unique gift to take corrupted spirits into his body and heal them, to bond with the rare and valuable spirit dragons that roamed Thedas and work with them to combat the Blighted Archdemons. </p><p>Needless to say, when he bonds instead with the oversized and completely plain mongrel, Hawke, the Wardens are far from pleased. All he wants is to prove that the loveable beast is every inch the Champion he knows he is.</p><p>It would be easier if Hawke weren't insanely jealous of everyone and everything, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "I want an au with dragon riders and Hawke is a dragon".  
> How could I resist?

Anders woke to the sounds of chaos and disorder, and not for the first time he fervently wished he could go back to sleep, back to the warm arms of the buxom dream-lady he had been curled up with. He didn't get enough sleep these days, he swore, and it wasn't like Warden business was a slack job. He couldn't remember the last time his arms didn't hurt, and he was pretty sure that his abs were developing abs of their own. Of course, he wasn't complaining about the aesthetic consequences of his job – but it was a bit hard to look dashing when his eye bags were so prominent he looked like he'd tried head-butting a rampaging Bronto.

Repeatedly.

He pulled the blankets up a little higher to cover the lower half of his face, and silently prayed that if he didn't move, they might not notice him. He could hear the groaning from the other occupant of this room as the screams and shouts woke him too, and within moments Nathaniel was up and on his feet. Anders caught him glancing over to him with a displeased expression before the nobleman bent down, pulling his boots on and reaching for his tunic that hung on the end of his bed.

That was fine, let old Howe deal with this problem. He was good at that, having a mind for tactics and knowing just what to do and when to do it to come out with the best possible results. That wasn't really Anders' style, and he'd be the first to admit it. Running in screaming, flailing around a bit, and somehow not dying in the process was far more his preferred tactic. It was a hundred percent effective too, tried and tested. The worst he'd come away with was a burned back, and as he'd argued, if he'd stood his ground and not run for the hills he certainly wouldn't be so easy on the eyes any more – if there would even have been anything left of the puddle of molten Anders at that point. Run to live another day, that was his policy.

Staying in bed while others dealt with your problems was another of his favourites, and that was the one he intended to employ that morning. That was, at least, until their door was slammed open and that harpy screeched loud enough to wake the dead.

“WARDEN ANDERS, YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUIRED IN THE MESS HALL - _IMMEDIATELY_!”

“Sorry, Woolsey, I didn't quite catch tha- HEY!”

For an elderly lady she sure was strong, and before he knew it he was being manhandled out of his bed, her vice-like grip digging into the joint of his elbow as she pushed him down the corridor in just his leggings, and every time he opened his mouth to complain or comment or even to ask what in the _Maker's name was going on_ , she jabbed a bony finger into the small of his spine with such force that she pushed a whimper of air through his lips.

Everywhere they walked, people stepped aside to allow them past, and he spared a glance over his shoulder to see Nathaniel following him with a cool expression, looking far more dignified in his full armour, his bow and quiver on his back. “You could have let me get dressed..”

“You'll be perfectly safe, Anders. I seem to recall you were boasting not two days ago that you could wrestle a full-grown dragon to the floor in just your small-clothes.”

“Ah, but I did say I would be oiled up to the hilt in that particular instance, and unless you're hiding a bottle of grease up those skirts of yours, I'm afraid I really can't make good on my promise.”

She huffed and shoved him forward again, causing him to shut up as he stumbled, and everyone froze and stood still as the floor shook with the tremor of a very loud, very _close_ roar. Anders could feel the noise seize his heart, the vibrations making some of the newer guards lose their footing, and swore he saw the one at the door turn three shades whiter. The blond swallowed nervously and glanced to Woolsey, who was in turn shooting daggers at him with her glare and not softening up one bit at his expression.

“Andraste's tits, please tell me I'm still dreaming..”

“You're still dreaming. Happy? Now get your arse in there, young man, and do what you're here for.”

She gave him no chance to reply as she opened the door and shoved him in, Nate slipping through shortly after, and he felt his mouth go dry as he looked at the sight that welcomed them.

The hall was a mess, easily living up to its name, and there was a good three inches of water coating the floor. It could have been anything from ale to piss to an excess of the previous night's soup, but upon closer inspection, it was just rainwater.

The giant hole in the wall possibly had something to do with that. The very suspiciously dragon shaped hole in the wall. And all the rain coming in, ruining the tapestries on the wall, and there – people's breakfasts were floating away too. Such a shame, really, and despite looking at the sodden bread, Anders' stomach couldn't help but protest at the loss.

Perhaps the most concerning part of this morning's scene, however, was occupying the northern end of the hall, stood protectively over the buffet table that had originally been set out with bread and fruit and sweet cakes and grain. It certainly looked like it had seen better days, and the last Anders had seen of it, it wasn't cracked down the middle under a dragon rump. All of a sudden, he wasn't as hungry any more. He wasn't that desperate for food.

The dragon though, Maker, but he was a fine specimen. Larger than a drake, certainly, and larger than the Wyverns he knew some Orlesians liked to keep as pets. Broad, too, with stocky limbs, not unlike the dragon equivalent of a Bronto. The tons and tons of thick muscle were protected by deep black scales, though there was a peppering of blood red scales over his body that reminded Anders of the freckles that covered his own. His leathery wings were folded against his side for the time being, but Anders knew that when opened to their full size the tough hide would match his scales, the underside being a dark red that greyed around the edges, and a pointed ridge followed his spine all the way down to his tail that started to twitch at the end as wide, amber eyes fell on him.

The twitching became a wag forceful enough to shake the whole great body; a tongue lolled from an open jaw, and all of a sudden five tons of dragon was bounding at him, the gravity behind his tail throwing his body off balance and causing his legs to flail out slightly as he ran, and Anders braced himself for the inevitable impact as he heard alarmed cries from people very quickly (and very wisely) running out the way.

His back met the floor with a thump as a heavy claw rested on his chest, and a warm snout quickly became acquainted with his face, snuffling him loudly before an excited squeal rumbled through his body, and up close he could feel the vibrations all the way through his claw and straight into his chest. A rough tongue licked from his neck and up his jaw, and he could already feel the slobber gathering in his hair.

Great, he'd only had a bath the night before.

He was helpless to do anything but submit as the dragon-sized mabari chirped happily and nuzzled him to within an inch of his life, tongue covering every inch of him in slobbery affection. He attempted to push the claw off his chest but to no avail, and he knew he would just have to wait it out until he was sated.

“I know, Hawke, I know – I missed you too, buddy.”

The dragon called proudly, and after a lot more shoving on Anders' part, relented and stepped back, tail still wagging violently and knocking over a set of benches that had, until that moment, survived most of the chaos. Anders pulled himself upright and roughly wiped the saliva from his bare chest, too covered to even bother feeling disgusted at this point. Dragon slobber was a lot like dog slobber – thick, dense, and like to stain everything it touched. The one good thing about it was that when Woolsey approached him again, she didn't grab him. He was pretty sure he'd rather be crushed by a dragon than pinched by her any day, and it seemed she had absolutely no intention of touching him while he was coated in a thick layer of slime. He turned to see the Seneschal step up beside her, and although his face was furrowed in a frown, there was amusement in his eyes. Anders didn't know a soul that could resist the puppy-like charm that Hawke had in abundance – Woolsey excluded, of course, but he was pretty sure the woman was immune to the charms of even the most adorable mewling kitten.

Void, even Nathaniel was struggling to fight back a grin.

“Warden, for the love of all that is sacred, you have _got_ to keep your dragon under control,” Woolsey hissed, hands on her hips in a very matronesque manner. Of course, as the person in charge of the Wardens' monetary issues, she would be upset about a destroyed hall.. Especially the mess hall, where every staff member went to eat at least three times a day. Vigil's Keep wasn't just for the Wardens, as few in number as they were – for each Warden, there were about twenty different staff members to clean up after them and make sure that everything was in perfect working order.

Even with his back to him he could see the look in Hawke's eyes in his mind, and sure enough, shortly after she spoke there was a low whine, and a nose nudged him firmly in the back. Without turning he reached round, resting a hand on his snout and stroking softly with just his fingertips, pulling a slight face.

“I'm sure he just had a nightmare. You know the other dragons don't accept him – if he got scared and lonely, of course he'd come to seek me out.”

“And are we to lose an annex every time your pet has a bad dream? Shall we all be living on the streets because you can't keep your dragon under control?”

This time the shove was a bit more forceful as Anders felt himself pushed backwards, Hawke's leg half blocking him from sight as his great head lowered, and he took up a low, thrumming sound in his throat, posture protective. Seneschal Varel seemed to have the sense to step back, but Woolsey was far too stubborn for that. If she were a couple of decades younger, she would have made a fine tamer. As it was, she whipped the staff into line, and whenever she came to watch the riders practice she certainly got the odd one cowering by the end of it.

Anders really hoped she wouldn't challenge Hawke, though. He had a very dominant streak in him, and was fiercely protective of his partner. They'd learned that the hard way, when they'd been ambushed out on the job, back on one of their first outings together.

He wasn't exactly upset that Hawke ripped the head off the man who was trying to stab him, but he'd not left a single one alive. The Alpha potential in him was one of the few factors that redeemed their bond in the eyes of the Wardens. They had never been intended to be together, and for years their seniors had continued to try and split them. Each attempt had only succeeded in bringing them closer together, but with the dragon reaching full maturity, it means that even a raised voice against Anders had his hackles up.

“He means no harm. And we'll, uh,” Anders floundered for a moment, wincing as he looked up at the damage to the walls. That.. That really wasn't good. Maker, but why did he have to bond with a dragon that didn't understand the meaning of walls? When he got even bigger, he didn't doubt that a couple of mountains would gain new crevices because 'it seemed the quicker route'. “We'll help rebuild the hall. He's strong – we can lift up the bricks and help secure the rafters and-”

“You'll be doing more than that, Warden. Until you two have redeemed yourselves and proven yourselves worthwhile, you're sleeping outside.”

“What?!”

Although still stood over him protectively, he could hear the stuttered, guttural chirps that meant Hawke found the situation amusing. Of course he would. Anders sleeping outside meant they would be closer to each other during the night. The dragon might be happy with that, but he was more concerned about not freezing certain parts of his anatomy off in the harsh Amaranthine nights.

“Oh, don't worry,” Woolsey chuckled, a smile breaking on her face for the first time that morning as she tucked loose hair behind her ear, a fond look creeping onto her face as she watched the horror on unravel on his own features. “We'll give you a blanket.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 “Did a dragon shit in your tea this morning or are you just displeased to see me?”

Anders looked up at the voice and pouted slightly, seeing Nathaniel stepping over with an easy stride, still in full armour and with his bow and quiver strapped to his back. He scratched slightly at his jaw as he stopped in the doorway, crossing his ankles as he leaned elegantly against the frame, raising a dark eyebrow at the sight.

Woolsey hadn't made light on her promise that Anders would make up for Hawke's misbehaviour, much to the mage's dismay. He was more than prepared to help rebuild the walls, but as she had argued, it was more Hawke doing the work there rather than him. As they still had to wait for supplies to be brought in, she had easily found him new work to do instead – and really, the stable-hands were more than happy to have an unexpected day off.

“Really, Nate? Could you not think of anything else to joke about?” Anders gestured vaguely at the mess in the large barn he was currently stood in, disbelief on his face. He had a cloth tied rather ineffectually over the lower half of his face in an attempt to combat the smell. The dragons communally slept in the giant stone building, but always had access to the world outside. They had free roam of the Keep's lands, but where did they decide to dirty with their filth? Not some distant field, anyway, and he was sure they'd done it on purpose. “Maker's balls, is that a Halla?!” He prodded the pile of excrement with the end of his shovel and gagged at the skull resting in it. Which dragon had decided tearing the flesh off was too much effort and just ate the thing whole?!

Hawke, probably.

He shouldn't be surprised. For his age, he was the biggest dragon there – and still acted like a hatchling. Chewing was far too much effort unless somebody else did it for him.

Nathaniel smirked slightly, waving a hand in front of his face as the breeze brought a waft of stench in his direction and crinkled his nose. “It's a good thing you're sleeping out here, I think you might evacuate the whole Keep coming back in smelling like that.”

“All the more reason to do it – I might finally kick Woolsey out!”

“And to think you have to spend the night in here.. Do choose your sleeping spot carefully, won't you? I'd hate to have to explain to the First Warden in Weisshaupt that our spirit healer suffocated under a pile of droppings.”

Anders gestured vaguely for him to step outside with him, needing some fresh air and to crack his back out after straining under the weight of so much filth. He'd cleaned about half, and considering that this job was normally split between eight people, he felt quite proud of that achievement. Still, Nathaniel's words had grated with him, and as he flopped down on his back on the slope behind the dragons' barn, he lay his head back on his linked arms and drummed his fingers nervously on his hands.

Nathaniel came and lay next to him, weapon resting at his side, and the two enjoyed a moment watching some of the dragons circling above their heads. There were only a small number of Senior Wardens at their outpost, but in all honesty the Keep couldn't accommodate more than a handful of dragons for the time being. Nathaniel's slender yet agile Northern Hunter, Tarleton, appeared to be leading the dance while Velanna's Greater Mistral, Seranni, followed. At least the dragon was more gregarious than her rider..

Both were named after people important to their riders. In Nathaniel's case, Tarleton was his grandfather. Anders remembered him briefly mentioning that he got on better with him than his own father (and didn't he know that sentiment well..), and Velanna's was named after her lost sister. The Dalish mage was a very prickly soul and Anders didn't get on with her one bit, but after losing her sister to the Blight, she had insisted on coming back to join them at the Keep. And, wouldn't luck have it, she bonded almost immediately to the gorgeous blue and yellow dragon and became the envy of Vigil's Keep.

As per usual, Hawke was nowhere to be seen – probably off chasing nugs in the field behind the trees, if he knew him.

There was no story of familial ties behind Hawke's name. Anyone Anders had been close enough to to warrant sharing a name with his dragon had left scars too painful to dredge up – and he sincerely doubted that his mother's name would suit the brutish dragon. He had briefly entertained the idea of naming him Karl, after his closest friend in the Circle, but it just didn't seem to do him justice. He'd tried a small handful of names, but even names with titles (Ser Flamesnout, for example) just didn't suit.

The two had been sat in one of the fields, watching the sunset when the as of then unnamed Fereldan Frostback made a keening sound, watching a couple of birds playing in the burning sky. Anders recognised the species, having studied them in his Circle days – not to mention being on of his favourite types of bird to watch flying - and had looked to his dragon curiously. “Hawks? You like them?”

He had felt a large tail wag behind him, although at that point the dragon had been only a bit bigger than a small horse, and Anders had found he quite liked the way the word sounded. The 'k' added an element of strength to the name, while the elongated vowel softened the word. He spoke it a few times, the tail continuing to wag, before the young mage reached for a stick and wrote it out in the soft soil before them.

Hawk.

It felt almost right, but lacking in something. Too short, just a label, and not a title, a name. On a whim he had added an 'e', and from that moment on it had stuck.

“You know, Woolsey would probably take kinder to you if you'd bonded with something else,” Nathaniel commented quietly, not taking his gaze away from his dragon in the sky. He felt more than heard Anders' defeated sigh, and when he didn't respond the rogue pressed on. “Spirit healers aren't exactly easy to come by. Having you with us.. If we'd found a spirit dragon and you'd bonded.. We could end the Blight.”

“You think I don't know that? I must look so selfish to her. Here I am, gifted with this, this ability to stop the suffering that's been going on for years, and I go and bond with an overgrown puppy. She has expressed her opinion on this matter many times, Nate. I'd appreciate you not adding to it.” He huffed slightly, voice darkening. All his life he'd been told off for things out of his control. His father had disowned him because of his magic, the Circle had scolded him for his stubborn refusal to submit to their controlling ways. When his talent as a spirit healer was discovered, he was whisked away to the Wardens, and then when he got there, he had imprinted almost immediately on a dragon that in their eyes was useless.

“I'm not criticising you, Anders. I think the two of you work well together. You didn't see Hawke before you arrived,” he smiled sadly, tilting his head to glance at the man who very stubbornly refused to look at him. “A dragonling twice the size he should be at his age, who refused to respond to any of the tamers. Learnt he could just throw his weight around and we could do nothing. I have no doubt that had you not been conscripted, we wouldn't have kept him. Perhaps he would have managed to fend for himself in the wild – or, rather, the decision would have been made to execute him for his own good.”

Anders growled quietly, eyes narrowing, and he turned to meet Nathaniel's gaze. “Nobody took the time to understand him. When someone's different, you don't just get rid of them for ease, though humanity seems to struggle to grasp that notion. He's a fine dragon – he's strong, he's quick to learn when he applies himself.”

“And just as nutty as his rider!”

The two men glanced up to see a dark-haired dwarf stepping over to them, her hair pulled into pigtails, and wearing the same armour as Nathaniel. Sigrun was an ex-member of the Legion of the Dead that they had picked up on one of their travels, and one of Anders' closest friends within their ranks. The rest of her Legion had been slaughtered, but she had had the fortune to be compatible for bonding herself – a small drake had fought off all the Darkspawn attacking her, and although he had been hostile to the Wardens at first, Varlan was soon just as settled with them as she was. Anders offered her a fond smile as she came and sat with them, and she nudged him and pointed over to the crest of the hill where Hawke could be seen, rolling around in the grass.

“They say that the longer a rider and dragon are bonded, the stronger the connection, right?” She asked, glancing to two Senior Wardens. Nathaniel nodded, sitting upright a little and hooking his arm around his knee.

“As the bond grows, we become able to sense each other, even at a distance. I think that's more for our benefit, really – dragons can smell us and hear us from quite a way, especially if they're conditioned to us as individuals. I'm starting to be able to sense Tarleton, but it's slow progress. It's a shame you bonded to a drake – the connection is considerably stronger when you're flying.”

Anders hummed in agreement, closing his eyes at the memories. A first flight together was always a very important moment, as the two learned to balance together, and respect the decisions each made. He and Hawke were at a point now where just Anders' posture in the saddle told Hawke what he wanted, and he could apply certain pressure patterns with his finger for more complex commands when words weren't necessary. He'd quickly discovered that opening your mouth while flying was an invitation for a rather large insect snack. “What brings you out here, anyway, Sigrun? I would have thought you'd be busy helping the Seneschal with the reports.”

“Actually, that's why I'm here. He wanted me to tell you you're relieved from cleaning duty for the rest of the day.”

He perked up at that, sitting up properly and looking to her suspiciously. There was always a catch, wasn't there? The question was, just how bad would it be this time? “I'm going to assume he hasn't found me a worse task than shovelling shit. Not even cleaning Oghren's chamberpots could come close to this horror.”

She snorted at that and he felt a small spark of pride at the reaction, though she soon leaned forward and wrapped her stubby arms around each of their shoulders (and wasn't she glad she was kneeling on the higher part of the slope). She brought her face closer to them with a mischievous smirk, enjoying the power as they waited expectantly for her words.

“You're both required for scouting tomorrow. Reports of a High Dragon with a possible nest not too far from here, but we don't know the location. You two and Velanna are tasked with tracking it down, but with strict orders not to engage without proper backup. It's a big beasty, from what eyewitnesses have said.”

“Blighted?” Nathaniel asked, ever the practical one. Anders could already see him mentally preparing a checklist; what balms to pack, which arrows to take in case of an emergency. It wouldn't do for them to be caught out and injured, or worse. A High Dragon was no laughing matter, and one this close to Amaranthine could pose a significant risk to the city. If they provoked it unsuccessfully, it could take its ire out on the innocents, and that was one thing none of them wanted.

“It sounds like it. We really can't risk it spreading the disease any further, and if it sets up home here, it might draw the attention of other High Dragons – or worse. Either way, the Seneschal has classed it as current top priority, and has asked that you both spend the rest of the day preparing yourselves for tomorrow. Though.. Sorry, Anders. You're still to spend the night sleeping out here.”

He sighed slightly, but if he was let off the barn cleaning duties, he supposed he could live with that. It would put Hawke at ease nonetheless, and that was always a plus side. If he didn't kick up a fuss, perhaps Woolsey might start to grow a bit more lenient.

Who was he kidding. Anyone who grew up in the Anderfels was stubborn to a fault. It was the one thing they had in common.

 

* * *

 

“You know it's lucky I'm so fond of you, or there might be problems here. But take my blanket again, and mark my words there'll be hell to pay in the morning.”

A throaty bark was his response, and he couldn't help but grin as he reached up to snatch the blanket back out from the toothy grip of his friend. His equipment had been double-checked and triple-checked, his satchels full with lyrium potions, and a large supply of emergency sedatives for Hawke stuffed into another satchel that they'd strap to his saddle before leaving in the morning. The sky was darkening and the lights were being put out for the night, and as promised, Woolsey had dropped off the blanket and a pillow for him for the evening. She even seemed to speak kindly when she did, as if pleased that he wasn't arguing against her on this. When she had fussed over Hawke fondly before leaving, Anders pinched himself. Twice.

He'd contemplate the possible doppelgänger later, perhaps on their long flight tomorrow.

Hawke had staked claim of a corner of the barn and curled his bulk up into a tight ball, and Anders had managed to clamber over his limbs to settle himself down in the crook of his forelegs. Hawke had sharper scales there to protect his joints, but with care they'd worked themselves into a comfortable enough position. He tucked the blanket around him and placed the pillow on the thick hide of his lower foreleg, chuckling as a wing extended, draping over him as a protective blanket, his neck curling round to rest his head lightly on Anders' legs. He knew he'd wake with severe pins and needles, but it was such a warm and secure arrangement that he didn't have the heart to move him.

The other dragons were already snoring in their own sections of the barn, but Hawke didn't seem ready to sleep just let. His golden eyes were on his rider, dancing in the glow of the magelight Anders had summoned, and let out a warm breath as he snuffled against him.

“I know, you big lump. I love you too.” He reached out, scratching his nose fondly and earning a low purr in response, the vibrations shaking his whole body, pinned as he was. “And tomorrow we get to go flying – you haven't had a proper chance to stretch your wings in ages.”

Another low hum agreed with him and he smiled warmly, shuffling a little to get comfier once more, and he closed his eyes while keeping his hand on his companion's snout. It didn't take long for them drift off, their sleep guarded by the comfort of each other's presence.

Beneath the dreams of security and companionship, the distant drumming of the Archdemon's song continued its relentless pace, thrumming, never fading, but merely strengthening its Call.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weyr - collection of dragons/riders (borrowed from Anne McCaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern) - it seemed like the perfect word for what I wanted to describe :D
> 
> You may also have noticed I'm taking a few liberties with the species of dragon and the lore behind them - such as the fact that strictly speaking, only female dragons have wings, and drakes are terms for male dragons. In my mind drakes are almost a subspecies, a flightless species, so I'm just going to roll with this freeform. Also, despite the fact that the breed mentioned are High Dragons in Inquisition, I'm going to consider them more as general species in their own rights, with High Dragons being of a tier above that.
> 
> Either way, thank you all for reading, and I hope you're enjoying it so far! I have a fairly happy idea of the direction I want this fic to take, and I just hope I manage to deliver it for you.  
> Anyway, without further ado, here's the next chapter!

That morning had been a buzz of activity as the Wardens and their mounts prepared for their scouting mission. It wasn't so much that the Wardens needed a long time to ready themselves, but saddling up a dragon was no easy task. Each pair had a team of five handlers to make sure everything was fit to go, and shared a winch mechanism to hoist the bulky pieces of leather up and slowly lower them in place, which took a lot of shuffling, patience, and time.

And, of course, if something were to go wrong, it would be with Hawke and Anders.

The Warden had been perched on his dragon's back, mindful of the sharp scales of his spine, and calling out for the saddle to be lowered on the winch. With still a good metre to drop the rope securing it had snapped, dropping the full weight onto Hawke with such alarm that he spooked sideways, knocking both saddle and rider off him in the process. Anders had never been more grateful for Oghren's body mass than that moment, having the dwarf break the worst of his fall, but the saddle had taken out some of the supply carts and he was disgruntled to find that his satchel of potions was thereafter worthless.

It had taken a good five minutes to calm Hawke enough to stand still once more, especially since the dragon was so upset at having unseated his partner, and they had to wait while a new rope was installed and the saddle relifted, but eventually everything was back in place and they were ready to go, even if they were by that point almost an hour behind schedule.

At one point during the chaotic start it had been suggested that Anders ride bareback, as some opted to do, but he very pointedly reminded them that riding Hawke without some form of protection would almost certainly leave him castrated. The idea had quickly been dropped, which he was most grateful for. Sure, they used to fly without a saddle when Hawke was barely more than a dragonling, but that was before his characteristic spiky hide had developed. It might do in an emergency now, but there was no offer on Thedas that would convince him to risk his manhood in such a manner when faced with a full day in the air.

Nathaniel and Velanna had been sat, watching and waiting throughout all this, and the latter certainly seemed far from pleased when the third rider finally joined them. Anders had once pointed out that as the only two mages within the Amaranthine Wardens, they should technically get along rather well. She had rather clearly informed him that she'd get on with him when she no longer had to share her air with him.

“Has the clown finally stopped making a fool of himself?” She called idly to Nathaniel, nudging her heels into Seranni and turning her to face away from them. Velanna always held herself with such an air of superiority, and it never ceased to irk Anders. It reminded him far too much of the Templars, especially with her dismissive attitude. “I feel sorry for the Wardens; it must be so embarrassing to have to show him within their ranks.”

Hawke growled at the tone of her voice, and Anders could feel his posture shift between his legs, tons of muscle coiling as he arched threateningly. The sound triggered an instinct in Seranni and she immediately rounded back on him, a threatening hum coming from her at the challenge to her partner.

“Hawke, please,” Anders murmured quietly, placing a soothing hand on the hide just in front of his saddle in an attempt to calm him. “Not now.”

He groaned inwardly as he felt him take a step forward, claws digging into the ground, Seranni rearing her head back in a proud display. The temperature dropped as her chest swelled with the building of her icy breath, while Anders could feel the heat below as Hawke prepared his own fire. Both were highly territorial, stubborn creatures, though neither had the upper hand with regards to their elements.

He also noticed that Velanna was encouraging her behaviour, and making no moves to stop her, while Hawke was just blatantly ignoring him. It was this that had made the others believe him an insolent beast, but Anders knew better – he was just very, very protective. He saw Anders' requests for him to step down as fear, and he would not stand anything that unsettled his partner. It was his duty to make sure that those under his watch felt threatened by nobody, and the constant unease that thrummed off his rider almost as much as the Fade did made him an easily aggravated soul.

Velanna didn't have that excuse. She was just a bitch, in his mind.

On more than one occasion Anders had wished that the dragons wore bridles instead of steering with their legs and voice, but while he may just have had the arm strength to wrestle an unruly horse into submission, he knew he wouldn't stand a chance turning Hawke's head when he was like this.

He was mid-way through casting a shield over the two of them when the line of sight was suddenly blocked, Tarleton's great, rocky skull swinging this way and that as he roared loudly for them to stand down. While Hawke had the sheer bulk and Seranni the startling appearance to make them both seem like contenders, it was Tarleton that commanded the respect in their weyr. Older and more experienced, he had little trouble in intervening and diffusing most situations – well suited to his rider, really. It helped that he and Seranni were good companions, and she had little trouble in standing back, relaxing her posture at his demand, with no inclination to challenge her alpha.

Hawke, on the other hand, bristled and shuffled as the natural territorial instinct drove him to challenge him, but it was neither the time nor the place. Anders was grateful when his dragon calmed in turn, growling in dissent and turning away from the other two, and mouthed a quick thank you at Nathaniel for the timely intervention. He glanced down as Seneschal Varel cleared his throat, looking awkward after the whole scene, and noticed that almost all the staff had stepped away for fear of getting caught in the crossfire. The three Wardens sat to attention, even if the sulking dragons at either end rather ruined the formidable appearance.

“Remember, Wardens, this is to be a scouting mission _only._ No bravado, no tricks. We're talking a high-priority threat here. I just want to know location, size, whether it has nested or not, and whether or not it's showing signs of the Blight. Return to report immediately, and we'll discuss further action then. Velanna, I want you to scout the mountains to the south. Nathaniel, take the coast east, and Anders west.” He raised his fist to his chest, nodding once in his salute, and stepped back. “Maker go with you, Wardens. I expect you all back by sundown.”

“You hear that, my lump? A nice coastal trip for you.” Anders grinned, scratching Hawke fondly at the ridge of his neck, and he could feel the happy shiver all down his body. As a species he may find it more natural to be in the mountains, but then Hawke never did fit the stereotypes. They both preferred the sea, the endless expanse of freedom, to the oppressive stature of the mountains. After receiving her orders Velanna wasted no time urging Seranni on, the two taking off immediately and flying back over their heads to head south, while Nathaniel merely offered Anders a quick wave before doing the same.

Hawke bounded on the spot, experimentally throwing his weight around in his excitement as the others parted before taking three great strides forward, kicking off on the third to throw his mass in the sky. Anders tucked his body low to the saddle to help reduce the wind resistance, feeling the power in those extended wings as they were propelled higher and higher. He knew the strain the ascent would be putting on his wings, but Hawke had a considerable wingspan and strong muscles to boot, and when he was finally satisfied with the altitude he stopped his flapping and started to glide on the thermals, allowing the two to finally take a moment to appreciate their surroundings.

They'd come this way on their first flight, and the nostalgia was almost comforting. It had been such a surreal experience, glancing to the side and seeing birds flap along with them. For Anders, who had spent the better part of his life locked away in a tower and only wistfully watching the birds enjoying the freedom of the skies through his window, it had made him giddy. He remembered laughing to the point of nearly falling off, but Hawke had fed off his joy, gambolling about in the air with happy chirps. Needless to say he'd returned to the Keep with quite the bout of flight sickness, but in time he'd gotten used to the motions, and found ways to deal with it whenever Hawke decided to go full puppy-mode.

Even now he would twist this way and that, using the warm currents to ruffle his scales. After being grounded for so long the air felt wonderful against his hide, especially where it stretched the leather of his wings to their fullest. The sea loomed ahead of them in no time, the sharp cliffs of the coast cutting off the mass of land, and Anders couldn't help the cry of exhilaration as Hawke tucked his wings in and turned to the left in a half dive, swooping down almost to sea level before extending them once more, the tips of his claws trailing in the clear water.

They could see the sails of ships a little out in the distance, sailed perhaps by merchants or pirates, and the mage grinned at the knowledge that they would surely be visible from here, and they had no reason to hide. Although dragons were a rare prize for the black market, where scales and bones could be sold for extortionate amounts, the trouble it took to bring one down wasn't worth it – especially not with a Warden on its back. Both deadly forces within their own rights, the combination could be truly devastating.

Just one more reason they'd wanted him to bond with a spirit dragon, he supposed.. Yes, Hawke was strong, but he was only a Frostback. Bulky, sturdy, but he had nothing flashy. Anders was a spirit healer, a powerful mage at that, and although his control of the elements was no laughing matter, the amplification of a bond like that would have meant his own spirit-based attacks would be quite the force to be reckoned with. Aside from the confidence that each other's loyalty gave them, he and Hawke got very little in way of additional strength from their bond. If anything, it just made the dragon considerably more stubborn – they both knew he would die before letting harm come to his rider. Not something Anders ever wanted them to have to test, but that grim determination that drove both of them on could well save their lives someday.

He sat up a little as they continued their flight, turning his gaze this time to the rocky faces on their left. He could see splashes of white where birds had gathered in colonies to nest, hiding their young as the shadow of a dragon passed over them. Nothing seemed amiss here, and he certainly hoped that it would be one of the others who would find the troublesome High Dragon that day. Not that he wanted to shirk his duty, but when the Maker made His children and showered them with fortune and luck, Anders had barely gotten the dregs. As far as experience had shown him, his life was one continued struggle, pushing a giant rock up a mountain that never ended. With Hawke by his side it became easier, naturally, but he was still waiting for the proper respite that he was sure he deserved by now.

They flew for a good few hours, following the coast, and Anders was about to call for them to stop and take a break when a flash of light further down the cliff-face caught his eyes. Hawke tensed beneath him, stopping immediately to hover on the spot, and tilted his head as he listened. And there.. There it was.

The roar of a dragon in combat.

Silently they carried on towards the sound, Anders crouched low to try not to stand out (although blue armour against a black dragon was hardly subtle), and he could practically feel the nervous energy buzzing underneath him. Hawke was already trying to balance his flight or fight instincts, the urge to dive in and threaten warring with the need to keep his rider from danger. They saw another flash, closer this time, and the two managed to trace it to a narrow passageway within the cliffs. There wouldn't be much space for Hawke to manoeuvre if push came to shove, but with any luck that should also mean that whatever was down there wouldn't match him for size.

Hawke called quietly, head tilting to look to his rider with concern in his large eyes, and Anders found himself smiling weakly as he pressed soothing fingertips to his shoulder. “Just a quick scout in and back, love, I promise. We'll be fine.”

There was indecision on that dark face, instinct beating madly in his chest, urging him to turn away. Eventually his trust and loyalty ran out and he turned, the two slowly making their way through the passageway. It was close, the rock at the top of the cliff almost sealed over and turning it into a cavern, and Anders choked down on his own sudden nerves at the feeling of rock all around. If they made a wrong move, if Hawke got stuck.. If they got trapped in here. It didn't bear thinking about, it really didn't.

He felt the rumble below him and leaned down to hug him slightly, taking steady breaths in time with the motions from his wings, and kept his gaze firmly ahead. While the air got darker and darker, a small pinprick of light could be seen the other end. He held onto that, trusting in Hawke's heightened night-vision to keep them from crashing, biting harshly on his lower lip to keep his thoughts where they should be. He couldn't lose himself in that damned cell again, he _couldn't_.

The promising light delivered, and after only a short while, they opened out into a spacious clearing. A rocky island of sorts stood in the middle of the water, covered in grass and an abundance of vegetation. Trees with blossoms, the picture of health and life. Anders sat up, eyes widening at the sight, especially compared with the sparse grasses that usually grew on the coastline. He ached to know what herbs he might be able to find for his potions, what nutrients allowed for such a cultivation. Perhaps he could take a soil sampling with him back to the Keep, find out what was in the earth and rocks here that made it so fertile. He couldn't feel lyrium in the air, so he doubted that they were close to a vein here.

He was torn from his thoughts as Hawke let out a pained cry and the air left his chest in a _whoosh_ as they were thrown bodily backwards, something tackling them from underneath and throwing their momentum in reverse. He could feel Hawke writhing in a desperate attempt to get some leverage, claws scrabbling against the attacker, and instinct was the only thing that got Anders to pull a hasty shield up as they collided back against the cliff-face.

He heard something crack in his spine and felt the searing agony as the full body weight of potentially two dragons slammed him into the rock, yet the resulting rawness in his throat from his screams wasn't enough to distract him from the burning sensation in his spine. He had no doubt that without the shield he would have been in a much worse state, thank the Maker for small mercies. He could feel bits of spine grinding on more bone as Hawke wrestled with whatever was attacking him, the mage feeling very much caught in an oversized pestle and mortar, and the sudden release as whatever was pinning them ceased threw him forward against the saddle as gravity claimed Hawke in a brief moment, his vision bursting in flashes of white as he fought with consciousness.

They were thrown with force sideways once more, and the strength in his body failed him as he slipped, his partner's fearful cry the last thing he heard as he plummeted down, bracing himself for the inevitable crash against either rock or wave.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Well_ , Anders thought as the world very quickly rushed up past him, _At least if I'm to die at the mercy of a dragon, it's a pretty one._ And indeed, it was. A relative of the Vinsomer, if he weren't mistaken, navy hide streaked with white and red in this particular case. Two horns curved round the front of its face to protect the more vulnerable eyes while large claws protruded from the joints of its wings, allowing it to dig in deeper to its prey. The fact that it was twice the size of Hawke seemed like a pretty unfair advantage in his mind, especially seeing the look of sheer panic on the latter's face as he struggled to free himself from its grasp, whole body straining to get to Anders before he hit the surface. Maker, he hoped it was water coming up to meet him and not rock. Water he might stand a chance with, but rock? At this velocity he doubted he'd remain in one piece, much less among the living.

Perhaps, if he survived this, he'd look into developing some sort of spell to prevent terminal velocity, make inevitable impact a bit softer. It seemed like a fairly essential thing for dragon riders to learn, and it would make training the youngsters a lot less painful.

For once in his life, it seemed the Maker was on his side. Contact with the water stung and jostled all the chipped bits of bone in his spine, not to mention that it was shit _fucking FREEZING_ , but he was at least alive for a few moments longer.

The chainmail in his armour wasn't really meant to be used as a floating aid, and he quickly found the ocean flooding into his nose and mouth, pulling him down into her depths, holding him and refusing to let go. The impact had left his limbs numb and useless, and any attempts at flailing yielded no results. The fabric grew thicker, his boots filling like lead weights on his legs, and he was mildly grateful that his staff was still strapped to the saddle or else the metal on that surely would have sped up the process quite considerably.

Through the rippling film of water he could see shapes moving in the sky, distinguishable only by the shadows they cast thanks to the sun, and a muffled inhuman scream twisted his gut in fear. What would happen to Hawke without him? Usually dragons bonded for life – be it mate or rider, their loyalty was absolute. Hawke would never bond with another, he knew it. They had been a fateful match, a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, and the thought of leaving him alone like this terrified him. He was still young, inexperienced with the world. He'd already proven himself headstrong and unwilling to listen to orders from others. If they couldn't control him.. Andraste's flaming arse, they'd execute him, he knew it.

Despite the sluggish feeling of his body, the basic need for survival started to kick in as he became starved of oxygen, the fear in his gut manifesting into adrenaline-inducing panic. He hated being trapped more than anything in the world, and helplessly drowning, unable to fight off his quickly-approaching death, only worsened his situation. Gasping in panic merely drew the liquid into his lungs quicker, his blood burning with the base demand for oxygen, and oh _Void_ he was dying, this was it, _he was dying and it was_ -

Sudden pain gripped him as he was dragged out of the sea in a rough motion, claws digging into his back. The immediate lack of water hit him like a brick to the face, body naturally doing its best to expel the liquid trapped in his lungs on reflex. The act of retching was agony, but he was alive – he felt like he was dying still with all the pain and light-headedness and the adrenaline still pulsing through his blood, but he was alive. A quick glance up assured him that the claw carrying him was black, and he felt a woozy grin spread on his face. There was a sizeable gash along his shoulder, but Hawke was alive and fighting and had managed to disengage long enough to save Anders from drowning.

Oh, but he didn't deserve such a perfect creature in his life.

Now that the urgency of removing him from the water wasn't so intense, Hawke lowered him to the grassy island with a striking care, and the second he released him he bounded forward to the edge of land before bellowing his threat. He had his wings extended to their fullest, angled just so to emphasise the breadth of his build, and neck extended to carry his sound further. Anders wasn't sure how he'd managed it but he'd arched his back in a manner that made the pointed spines down the ridge of his back separate, looking sharper and fuller, and as the Vinsomer-type dragon made to swerve round at a different angle he was there to meet it, swaying his body and lashing out with a fierce claw, keeping it at bay.

He was giving his rider a chance, and Anders knew not to waste it. When he felt he could concentrate enough he lightly lay his hands on his chest, closing his eyes and channelling his healing potential in on himself. Losing himself to his magic was an unsettling experience when death hovered barely a second away, but he had to trust in Hawke to protect him, to pose the greater threat. He had no concept of time as he focused on pulling bone back together, fusing it at an accelerated rate. Spines were an especially delicate matter as the central structure for the whole human body – if he accidentally fused two discs together, or neglected to fix the support of another part, he would be just as useless as now.

All he could hear was blood pumping in his ears with his erratic heartbeat, and when he was sure he'd finished all that was necessary on his back he forced his respiratory system to contract once, twice, and as he threw himself back to his senses he rolled to the side immediately and retched up the last of the water.

By his reckoning he had been in the zone for a good handful of minutes, and he was relieved to see Hawke still standing his own. The fight had been taken back to the air, claws tearing into the soft flesh of their undersides, and neither dragon seemed willing to give an inch. Hawke's backward facing horns did little to serve him in this fight, and he cried out as a rough headbutt from the other caught him full in the jaw with a loud crack. The noise still unsettled the healer, who was struggling to his feet, but he had to remind himself that noises like that rarely meant broken bones for dragons. While they could easily crush the bones of other creatures with one leg alone, their skulls were notoriously sturdy. The best way to get to a dragon was through the soft flesh under its legs, or through an open mouth with a good blast of magic.

He reached round behind his back to grab for his staff, and silently cursed himself when he remembered it was still strapped to Hawke. No matter, he could still cast to help – he just wouldn't be nearly as effective without it. Valdasine was quite the rare piece that had been commissioned for him not longer after his conscription with the wardens – made of Red Steel, the headpiece was shaped like a dragon and accentuated with citrine, a semi-precious orange stone, in the shape of stylised flames. It had been enchanted to enhance spirit magic, which he had to admit would have been extremely useful right then. Assuming that this was from the Vinsomer family, it had a weakness to spirit damage.

He cupped his hands together and rubbed his thumbs against the side of his fingers, focusing on the friction of skin against skin as he concentrated on his spell, building it up to twice its usual strength before hurling it at the fighting dragons. Without his staff the spell went wide, but he was grateful for his strong bond with Hawke as the dragon instinctively dipped his shoulder, forcing the other to take the full brunt of the spell.

As hoped, the Vinsomer seemed staggered by the blast, and he and Hawke fell into an easy rhythm, alternating Spirit Bolts and physical strikes, and between them they manage to wear its guard down enough for Hawke to get the upper hand. He braced one foreleg at the base of its throat, the other claw digging in to its side to hold it there, and Anders watched in relief as the larger dragon bore its throat in submission. Hawke opened his jaw wide and bared his teeth, hovering over the exposed flesh as a glow built in his own throat, stomach warming with a growing fire. He held it there, charging up his fiery breath before, without warning, he roared loudly in its face, releasing his hold and shoving it down bodily.

The larger dragon was quick to turn and flee with a last glance at them as Hawke twisted and came to land in front of Anders, standing with his neck arched proudly and gaze set dead on the other. As it hesitated at the entrance to the cavern he pounced forwards, claws digging in to the very edge of the turf as he thrust his head forward, a high and feral bellow leaving him once more. A final threat, a stake for dominance – _this is my territory, and you shall leave_.

They stood like that for a few moments, Hawke keeping his confident pose up a little longer, before he suddenly turned to him and all signs of the proud and self-assured creature fled as he became overwhelmed with concern, closing the distance with enthusiastic licks and snuffles, nose buffing all against his body. Anders was pleased he'd managed to heal the worst of his injuries or Hawke may well have aggravated them with his eager gestures, but he knew it was just the sheer joy at seeing him alive after nearly losing him. He laughed in turn and wrapped his arms tightly round his snout, keeping him close and squeezing as he lay his head against the broad ridge between his eyes.

“I owe you my life, Hawke. Don't ever change.”

He whined quietly and wagged his tail at the praise, large eyes boring into him as the mage pulled back a little before scratching under his jaw with an enthusiastic grin, expression full of pride.

“And didn't you do well? Look at you, fought off a High Dragon all by yourself! He won't be coming back any time soon, not while you're here.” He playfully gripped his bottom jaw, thumbs hooked in the gaps between his teeth, and tugged his head from side to side in a boisterous gesture. “The other dragons will have to respect you now – I always knew you had something special in you. Right-” He flicked a small orb of mage-light with his finger then, watching as it floated forward before bouncing lightly against Hawke's chest, right by where his heart would be. “Here.” The dragon's eyes lit up and he squealed in delight, and before he knew it he had a very, very giant cat playing pounce with the mage-light. It was all too simple to control the wisp, making it dart to and fro, and it cheered Hawke up to no end.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Hawke wasn't even half his age, only just approaching the end of his first decade. In dragon years, it was nothing, barely the blink of an eye. He was just a juvenile with a lot of responsibility, and if he could give him some time to play, to ease up from his duty, then it was worth it.

The Wardens had been bonding with dragons for almost as long as their order had existed. In the beginning they had tamed griffons, creatures who were decidedly less hostile than their reptilian counterparts, but after they had become all but extinct other means had been explored. They bonded to dragons at a young age as, like most creatures, they were easier to tame when they hadn't been exposes to decades of independence. Make them realise that they were safer with a rider, a partner, and prove worthy of their trust, and a stronger bond could not be forged.

The downside of it was, of course, the whole “bonding only once” ordeal. The odd breed could occasionally be convinced to move on, such as the Highland Ravager, but it wasn't an event that could be relied on. If the rider died of natural causes, the dragons would sometimes move into solitude in the mountains in morning. If they died in combat, however, the dragons would tend to continue fighting til their death in turn. It was instinct to avenge a pack mate, a bonded soul, and if they shied away from their purpose what else did they have?

Hawke seemed to pick up on his thoughts and stopped playing, calling softly and edging over. He nudged him lightly with his nose and Anders smiled weakly, leaning against him with a heavy sigh. “'S'okay, bud, I'm just tired. I think you and I could both do with a rest before we fly back, yeah?” He flicked his gaze to the gashes along Hawke's side and frowned, but healing a dragon was nothing like healing a human. Everything worked differently and it took a lot of effort to get through their natural barrier against magic. On the plus side they seemed to heal rather quickly on their own, so unless it got infected it would be better just to leave it until they were back at the Keep and he could mix up a nice poultice for him.

The adrenaline of the previous fight and near death experience leaving him, he felt his legs start to give in. Hawke nudged him with motherly affection towards the copse of trees and flopped down on his side, wrapping a leg round him and pulling him close before blanketing him with limbs and wings. He kept the wing over him outstretched though, enough to offer shade from the sun as it started to descend from its zenith, but still enough to offer that comfort he knew he so liked. It didn't take long for the rider to fall into a much needed sleep, and Hawke soon enough found himself dozing in the afternoon sun, content and safe by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments :D Chapter 5 is written already (it was originally supposed to be a short addition to this but then turned itself into the same size again) but I want to double check it as it's ready VERY oddly at the moment. Still, it should be up within the next day - and then chapter 6 is going to be quite a challenge to write so it may take a little longer.


	5. Chapter 5

Anders was pulled into awareness forcefully by some unknown force in his mind, and his immediate concern was that it was the Call of the Archdemon, suddenly stronger than before. This still felt wrong, but rather than the inherent 'evil' that he had come to associate with the consistent throb inside his head, this one felt.. Disjointed. Imbalanced. As he became more and more conscious he started to realise that it wasn't merely in his mind, but twining down his body, his lungs and heart, seizing them and gripping them tight in its hold.

He could no longer hear the gentle rush of the waves or Hawke's heavy breathing, or even his own panicked breaths coming quicker and quicker. Instead, his ears were filled with the mad pulsing of his heartbeat, and an experimental shout yielded no results. Had he even shouted? He tried again, but his throat felt numb, and although he knew his mouth had opened he had no way to be sure.

It was only then he realised that his world was grey, though he knew he wasn't blind for there were swirls of lighter grey up above him, and upon standing he came to realise he was in some sort of mist.

“Is this.. The Fade?” He was a Mage, not unused to being in the Beyond. Indeed, every time he slept he came to this place, but he was usually considerably less aware. He had enough mental fortitude to avoid being an easy target for demons, but there was no demon now. He blinked a few times in quick succession and the grey started to coalesce, forming jagged, rocky structures and harsh waves below that crashed against the crumbling land. Glancing behind him he saw trees, gnarled and leafless, and the floor beneath him was barren, the soil that harboured such life in the real world lacking here.

He knew it couldn't be the Fade, for in the Fade there was colour. Usually wrong in comparison to the real counterparts, but colour nonetheless. Here, there was nothing.. Nothing but this unending grey. Grey sea, grey sky – and looking down, he could see that he was a dim white, brighter along his veins where his blood and innate magic ability flowed. The extremities of his fingertips were almost translucent, and he found himself growing more and more concerned. The lack of colour supported what he had been told about the Rite of Tranquility, but he still had full awareness of his emotions.

Why couldn't he wake up?

He stepped forward, eyes darting about then in search of Hawke. A dragon that big couldn't be hard to find, and despite being twisted the rest of this dream-like world was a fairly accurate representation of where he had last been fully awake. If this was conjured up by his subconscious, how could the most important thing in his life be missing?

Once more the concept of time held no weighting as he wandered round the small island, tracing laps after laps. Nothing changed, and nothing he did could wake him up. Was he in shock? A coma? Perhaps his body had been damaged worse than he thought and had shut itself down in an attempt to heal properly, in which case he had nothing to do but wait. How long that would be, he did not know.

Another lap, another frustrated grumble. Perhaps this was not the Fade after all, and merely the confines of his own mentality. He had half expected scars from his past to show up if that were the case. No Templars came to chase him, however, and the sky remained visible through it all.

His confusion only grew and grew, and still he walked.

Without warning, the world shifted. Colour flooded him with such vibrancy that his head felt like it had been split open. It was like the Fade, and it was not. It was like the real world, and not. The colour didn't stick to the objects around him, but rather coated them. The half-dead tree branches clung to pink and green wisps that tried to escape, while blood red fog seemed to seep through the soil and wrap around the trunk like ivy, digging in to it latching on. It reminded him of the snares he used to see his father set to catch hares, and finding them the next day with the wire digging in through their throats. When the wires were barbed, the damage looked so much worse. The mental image drew an involuntary shudder through his body and he hugged his arms to himself, trying not to think on it.

The sea took on the same bloody hue, a thin coating of ocean blue floating on the surface like oil. The sky was a mixture of blue and red, the latter spreading from a focal point far off in the distance where a dark, fleshy mass appeared to float in the sky like some twisted mock-up of the sun.

Where patches of red fog brushed his skin, it hurt. It stung, it burned, and not just on the surface but in his very being. Contact with it was damaging his essence, his raison d'être – his healing. The reaction made him gag, unsure of what to make of this feeling that attacked him both inside and out, and just _everywhere_. It was like each nerve ending was being rubbed raw, all through his body; it felt as if his blood was boiling and cooling on its own in an endless cycle, the natural ability to heal and cure fighting against its own corruption.

_Corruption_.

Was that what this was? Corruption? They all saw what the Blight did on the surface to living organisms, to humans and beasts alike who caught the Taint. As Wardens they could sense it within each other, hear the Archdemon's call. Not once had he stopped to consider what it might be doing to the earth itself, to the spirits within nature.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Lands that had hosted the Blight for a prolonged time struggled to return to their previous fertility. It could take decades for grass to grow once more, and longer still for anything else. He had just thought it the over-exposure to corpses and blood and the remaining powder from explosives and excess waste from forges. The truth of it all, however, the realisation that nature itself was dying-

_**MAKE IT LEAVE. DOES NOT BELONG.** _

He whirled round at the sudden thought in his head, searching madly for a sign of whatever had put it there. It certainly wasn't his, and it wasn't a voice spoken out loud either.

_**PURE. LIGHT. MUST CONSUME.** _

_**NO. PROTECT.** _

_**THE EMPTY ONE.** _

“Who are you?”

It was giving him a headache, such basic thoughts. They came hard and fast, like instincts, like the sudden need for food, or sleep, and with such a similar force behind them. Was it a demon? They had no capacity for complexity, but even by their standards, this felt too base. It was rough and raw, untamed.

_**TOUCHED THE GOLD. BROUGHT ONLY BLACK.** _

_**BLACK. EVIL.** _

Gold.. And black..?

“Do you mean the Golden City?”

He cried out and covered his ears as sudden screeching threatened to deafen him, the weight of the sound crushing his lungs and forcing him into a hunched position. Whatever had gripped him in the grey world had not left him, and it seemed whatever he was conversing with held the spirit equivalent of a choke chain – and had no qualms with giving it a good tug when he stepped out of line.

_**THE GOLD WAS OURS.** _

_**CAST OUT.** _

_**FORGOTTEN.** _

The screeching became louder, and Anders scrunched his eyes tightly shut as he fought violent nausea. Whatever was talking to him was powerful, and angry. If it were a demon, he knew he was already done for. He couldn't even cope with its screaming – he stood no chance against anything physical. If noise alone was all it took to bring him to his knees, one look in its eyes would cause him to fully submit.

He'd always prided himself on his strength of will, but this was unlike anything he had ever known. Normal demons preyed on his basic fears – the dark, capture, rejection. He'd managed his whole year in solitary without succumbing to their pleas, no matter how tempting the offers had been. To tear through the wall, to bathe his starving body in sunlight. To destroy the life of every Templar that ever set foot on that earth.

This needed none of that. It didn't care for his emotions. This creature could bend the most powerful leader to its will, break apart the stoniest defences.

A sudden force shoved him on his back and he felt talons dig in to his chest, tightening around his heart and latching on tightly. Every panicked beat in his chest only served to strengthen the hold and his eyes jolted open in alarm, breathing escalating to an erratic pace as a shadow loomed over him, and he finally looked into the face of his assailant.

Of course, it would be a bloody dragon. Its face seemed as gnarled as the world around them, twisted by the corruption that surely ran through its blood. Scales and hide peeled away in rotten patches, although where he expected to see bone there was only mist, the wisp-like properties of a spirit. The inside was the purest blue he had ever seen, its colour impossible to achieve in the mortal realm. White smoke trailed at the edges of the wisp, and he could feel the lyrium pulsing in such close quarters, the beat trying to fall in sync with his own heartbeat. Whenever the two fell together it was like a breath of oxygen after months locked away. The dissonance when they missed, however, jarred his body straight to the core.

He'd always wondered what it would be like to meet a spirit dragon. The beasts were famed for their rarity, but also their power. They embodied virtues, much like spirits in general, but with an unparalleled magnitude. He knew that the last Blight had been brought to an end with the aid of a Dragon of Fortitude; the one before that, the first time the potential bond between a spirit healer and dragon had been discovered, had involved a Dragon of Hope.

_**THE EMPTY ONE IS NOT. I SMELL FEAR.** _

“Well, uh.. Not every day I get a dragon's claw wedged in my ch-chest, is it?”

His attempt at diffusing the tension went unappreciated as the beast lowered its head, teeth revealed in a snarl. Blood dripped between the sharp bone, falling on his face and leaving that burning sensation in his skin once more. The carapace didn't seem to fit the spirit within, as if the hard exterior was intended not to protect the one inside, but rather to contain it. The scales oozed that same bloody colour, slime trailing down its side. Up close it felt wrong, disturbed.

His mind helpfully supplied the words he had been searching for. _A corrupted spirit_.

It seemed to him that the Blight had tainted the poor creature, distorting its purpose, but all of a sudden making his very clear.

This was what he had been born to do. A rare gift bestowed by the Maker, the very thing the Wardens had recruited him for. The Taint in his own body should protect him from whatever the spirit-turned-demon might carry itself, Maker willing. He took as deep a breath as he could with a dragon pressing down on his chest, and steadied his voice with new-found resolve.

“I can see you, Spirit. Let me help you. You're hurting – I can help.”

_**THERE IS NO SPIRIT. ONLY VENGEANCE. EMPTY ONE WILL HOST.** _

Its head lowered even more, and now he could look directly into its gaze. He averted his own immediately, knowing well the risks of looking a demon in the eye – and indeed, the glimpse he had caught showed not a blue light, but a black abyss. The creature seemed angered by his gesture and growled loudly, coming even closer to him as he scrunched his eyes firmly shut, refusing to look.

_**BLACK KILLS ALL. STARTS WITH DRAGONS. BROTHERS OF ARCHDEMON.** _

_**EMPTY ONE CANNOT STOP IT. NOT EMPTY.** _

_**VENGEANCE STOP** _ _**S** _ _**.** _

_**VENGEANCE CHALLENGE** _ _**S** _ _**ARCHDEMON CRY.** _

His mind was filled suddenly with images of Hawke, handsome features twisted into a vile mockery of the dragon he once was, and all he could hear was that thrumming, drumming, the calling, calling, Calling, must obey the alpha, must heed the Call, feed the darkness, bring the death.

The song in his mind stopped instantly and a deafening, piercing scream filled the air and chilled him to his bones. Hawke's cry, Hawke's agony, and oh _Maker he needs me-_

His eyes opened on reflex with the burning instinct to aid his friend, and the demon wasted no more time.

All it took was a second of a shared gaze, and the bond was forged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that read better than it feels.. I intended for the sub-Fade section to be a little weird, but not to that extent. Any loose ends should be explained in a few chapters but if there's anything that really doesn't make sense, please feel free to ask me and I'll do my best!
> 
> The next chapter might not be up for a few days (I knew I wouldn't be able to keep the one-a-day up) but it will almost definitely be up before the weekend!


	6. Hawke I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short, and I just hope it doesn't read too oddly once more. This is from Hawke's POV, so it shouldn't run quite as smoothly as the others.
> 
> Translations:  
> Feim - Fade   
> (Dragon's Language from The Elder Scrolls because it seemed apt)

Sleep ended, as sleep does. It's noisy. Birds. Sea. Breathing. Wind. There is warmth on my back – sun. Late afternoon. It will set soon, and the sky will bleed red while we fly back to the nest. I like flying near dark. I like flying in the dark too. It's quieter, and cooler. I move like a ghost in the night. There is silence. There is breeze. I like the night. I like it with him.

He does not like the night. The _Feim_ flows through his skin. It scares him when he sleeps. I do not like him sleeping alone. I can protect him. We are bonded. We are kin. When he sleeps I feel his dreams. I feel his fear in my body. He sleeps better by my side. I protect him. I watch him. The Grey make him sleep inside. It is the place for the Wingless, inside their walls. They do not like it when I join them.

He does.

He needs me.

They call him Anders. He calls himself Anders. That is not his real name. He has never told me, but I know it is not his. It is not the name of his spirit. It is the name of the cage he has made. Once, he lived in a cage of stone. He told me about it once, when he clung to my side and cried. We were younger then, and he does not cry any more. I know he is still scared of that cage. He doesn't like the dark. He was in it for a very long time, and he destroyed the part of himself that carried his name.

Now his cage is his lies. When he gets scared, he laughs. The others think he is playing, or push him off for a fool. It is how the other dragons treat me. I do not act as they think I should. To them, I am not one of them. I am ordinary. I was chased from my grounds because there were too many males, and I did not fit in. My brethren are pale. I am black. I did not fight back, and the Grey caught me. They tried to make me form a herd with one of their own, but none of them felt right. Their hearts were dark, intentions buried under shadows of deceit. I could not trust them. I did not respect them.

He felt right. He still feels right. He was chased from his kind, as I was. He knows what it feels like to be cripplingly alone, to be rejected for not being what you should be. He speaks to me sometimes, and tells me tales of his people. That 'magic', the _Feim_ , is not a thing that people respect. He says that his kind fear him for it. I do not feel it should be feared. When we fight, he fights like a dragon. He commands the elements; the earth, the sea and sky. He calls down lightning to strike at our foes. He throws ice and fire and crushes our enemies with the force of his mind alone.

He mumbles now in his sleep, and I feel him move against me. He is tucked beneath my leg so I may keep him close, and I tighten my hold so he knows I am here. I do now know what he dreams, for he does not dream the dreams of my kind. When I sleep, I share the same as all dragon-kind. A world of black, a rumbling noise. Constant, beating, a call in my blood older than the collective memory we share. The noise is red. It wants us to follow. It preys on our need for a herd, a leader to follow. I am my own leader. I will not heed its call.

I lie with him for some time more. The sun has crawled down in the sky now, and the orange glow has bled into the great blue above. I see birds flying, and ache to join them. The old human did not want us to stay out late. He did not want us to fight the threat, but we did not have a choice. It should not have attacked. If it returns, I will kill it. It threatened him, it hurt him, and I shall never submit to it.

I am bored of waiting. I nudge him with my nose and breathe over him, and his scent floods my senses. He smells like earth and roots, of flowers and trees. He always smells empty, like he has tried to scrub all the world from his skin. The sick humans smell like that too. I think he does it to them too, because he helps them. He smells of blood and skin too, and a unique musk that is all his own clings to him. I like that smell. I know that I will always find him again, because that smell is imprinted in my memory. Even under those strong scents the females of his kind wear, or under food or other blood or anything, I can smell him.

Another scent is mixed with his, and it makes me tense. It is like the _Feim_ , but stronger. It smells like bad intentions, of avarice and hatred and death. I do not like it. It is not him, but it is twined with him now. I nudge him more urgently, a low call in my throat as I try to rouse him. He does not stir, and I nudge him harder. He breathes, but he does not react, and I am alone. There is something wrong with him. I cannot help him. I do not know how these humans feel, but I know that they do not heal on their own. Did I not pull him from the water in time? Did I crush him against the wall in my attempt to save us?

I am scared. It's not a sensation I know well. Dragons do not fear. We may be wary, or uncomfortable, but never scared. I am only afraid when I feel I may lose him, and this is one time I cannot save him on my own.

I cannot get him onto my back while he is limp, and I do not trust him to stay on. I do not want to carry him for long in my claws as I will jolt him, and my mouth alone is too sharp to be safe.

It takes time, but I eventually manage to pull something from the pieces tied to the leather on my back. The bags are too small for me to open with ease, and although I ripped the casing, I find one of the large pieces of fabric he places over himself to sleep. I move him onto it as delicately as I can, and manage to work a way to hold the material in my mouth and not him. It itches against my teeth and sends jolts of a horrible sensation through my body, but it is better than accidentally harming him with my jaw.

The sky is growing dark, and I must take us home. I need to know that he will be safe. I can feel something dark stalking the air around him, and I grow in reflex for it to leave him be. I cannot fight air, an enemy that I cannot see.

I cannot protect him, and that is the most terrifying thing I have ever faced.

 


End file.
